Group tension
by Encar000
Summary: In an alternate walking dead where Rick dies instead of Shane, He and Daryl are very at odds and start a fight easily when their actions matter most.


The truck roared along the street, attracting all kinds of attention from walkers. It had been about an hour since Shane and Daryl left the Greene farm on a run for some food. Winter was coming, and the cold slowed the walkers down, but they were nowhere near as slow as they were last year, when the walkers completely stopped in their tracks.

"There was a warehouse for a restaurant near that Hatlin's bar place. Most of those places were refrigerated and had some backup generators in case something went wrong. If they were big enough to power those places, they'll probably still be lasting. We may have a somewhat fresh dinner tonight." Shane broke the silence. Ever since he had come back with neither Rick nor Randall, Daryl never trusted him.

"Yeah, man. But what if it doesn't work out?" Daryl also doubted Shane's ability to make good calls, especially when he was stoned. He kept it a secret but Daryl had found an entire ounce of cocaine under Shane's bed. There was also a little bit under his nose right now.

"What do you mean motherfucker? You saying I'm too stupid to make the right decision? You better watch your mouth."

"Jesus, man. You need to Calm down. I'm just suggesting that it might not work out."

What the fuck do you mean I need to calm down? You got a fucking problem?" The white hot fury in his voice got Daryl just as pissed as he was.

"Look man, I'm just saying, more than a year since day zero, I'd be surprised if any unattended generators were still running. Okay? If you can't control yourself while you're all hopped up I'm gonna throw your stash in the river."

"What the hell do you mean 'my stash'? What are you saying?"

"Don't give me that bullshit. I've seen the coke under your bed, and I see it under your nose."

"You'd better not tell anyone, or else you might end up like Ri-" He cut off and looked straight at the road.

"Like who? Like Rick? You have anything to do with that?" Daryl taunted him.

"Look man." Shane's voice was calm now, almost pleading. "He was poking around, doing things that he shouldn't have been. MAN, HE WAS BLACKMAILING ME! I HAD TO DO IT!"

"Bastard"

Shane almost crashed the car in his rage. "HE BACKED ME INTO A CORNER! I HAD NO CHOICE! HE WAS GONNA KILL ME!"

"Bullshit, man"

That pushed Shane over the edge. He parked the car, got out came around and opened Daryl's door. "YOU MOTHERFUCKER! I'LL KILL YOU!" He grabbed Daryl by the collar and Punched him in the face, breaking his nose.

Daryl pushed him to the ground and got out of the car. While Shane was still getting up Daryl jumped on him, blood dripping from his nose onto Shane's face and began hitting him over and over again. Shane put his legs up to Daryl's midsection and kicked him off. Daryl fell back into the open truck and lay there for a second. He and Shane got up at the same time and that's when blows seriously began to be exchanged. They'd go for each other's eye's, wrists, groin's, anything sensitive that could stop each other.

"SHIT" yelled Daryl as a blow connected with his jaw. He was losing the fight, and new Shane would kill him if it continued like this. He bent down and ran forward to tackle Shane to the ground, knocking the wind out of him and sending him sprawling. When he straightened himself out he began to kick in Shane's ribs. Shane began to cough up blood. While he was rolling on his stomach, Daryl he had a chance, at least for the thirty seconds. He turned around to pick up the machete in the truck, knowing he'd have to kill this scum bag choking on his own teeth.

It was the opportune moment for Shane. He swept his legs under Daryl's and Daryl almost fell on the sharp weapon. They were both on their hands and knees now, sprawling to get to the weapon, just three feet away. The harder they tried to get it, the harder the other tried to fight back. Just as Shane began to grasp the handle of the weapon. Daryl bit his arm, drawing blood just below the elbow. Shane screamed, and the sound of their fight mixed with the smell of blood drew a small herd of walkers out of the brush lining the road. Daryl got up and kicked the machete away. He grabbed Shane and tried to push him into the score of walkers. "YOU DESERVE THE PAIN!" He began to yell, but was cut short when Shane hit him right in the solar plexus with his elbow. He doubled over in pain, which gave Shane the opportunity to spin around and force his knee into his face, drawing even more blood from his nose. Daryl fell back, then regained his senses and rolled away from Shane, just as he was about to stomp his ribs in. He got up and saw the abandoned weapon, just 10 feet away. He ran for it, Shane following closely. Several times in those few seconds they both were almost grabbed by walkers. Daryl picked up the Machete just as a walker put a hand around his arm. He spun around and brought the blade down into the center of his head, creating an explosion of blood and gray matter. The corpse fell to it's knees and then to the side. It was a very large male with a gray beard, perhaps in his late 50's when he died. The sheer size of this man caused about four walkers to stumble over him, which in turn caused four more to trip. Daryl backed away from them and turned his attention back to Shane. He was on his knees, bashing in the skull of a female in a sports bra and shorts. Daryl ran up to Shane and was about to strike when Shane got up to turn to Daryl. Because of Shane moving, and Daryl's aim being focused, the machete, instead of lopping off the big man's head, came down on his lower vertebrae. Blood sprayed everywhere on contact, and the weapon chipped his spine. His screams pierced through the growls of 30 or more walkers as he lay writhing in whatever way possible. Daryl was about to finish it, when he thought of a better idea. He ignored the screams of agony as he backed the truck over Shane's legs, and drove on despite the screaming and growling he could hear as they tore into, his arms, legs, chest and neck. As he roared down the street, he put on an Iron Maiden CD he had stolen at the beginning of the plague. After all, he'd have to listen to fast-paced music if he wanted to get to the warehouse near Hatlin's bar on time.


End file.
